Couch Potato
by nor do i
Summary: Antonio forgets that Lovino really doesn't like potatoes. Spain/South Italy. oneshot.


This pairing has been growing on me for a while. Forgive my Spanish mistakes, I haven't spoken it all summer. D:

don't own Hetalia. Spanish translations at the bottom. Enjoy.

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It was late spring in the Spanish kingdom, the unusually harsh winter having finally ended, bringing with it lovely weather and a nice, sweet breeze rolling through the Spanish hills. Birds sang, and various critters chirped and squawked in the yard and fields. The weather was beautiful, at the point where it wasn't unbearably hot, but it wasn't freezing. The sky was a gorgeous blue, with puffy clouds slowly moving in and out of the sun's rays. It was days like these that Antonio loved the most.

He strode through his mansion, carrying a large basket filled to the brim with ripe tomatoes. He whistled a soft tune, giving a nod or a smile to all of the servants and maids he passed on the way. Really, there couldn't have possibly been a thing to upset him on a day like this.

That is, until he came upon the living room.

Something told him he shouldn't have been surprised to see what he saw, but yet, there was a voice inside of his head asking, "who could sleep on such a day like this?"

Lovino sure could. He was sprawled over the couch, legs dangling off and spread in a questionable position. His arm was draped over the side of the couch, and he was frowning in his sleep, though he did look...rather peaceful, considering who he was. Antonio frowned, setting down the basket of tomatoes. He crept up on the couch, eyeing Lovino the entire time. The other made no acknowledgment of him, simply shifting in his sleep and adjusting his position. Spain took this as the moment to leap forward, pouncing himself on top of the younger man.

"¡Lovi, buenas tardes, sleepyhead!" Lovino jerked forward, gasping and opening his eyes quickly. Upon looking around the room and seeing the Spaniard on top of him, he refused to make eye contact, and a small blush crept it's way onto his cheeks.

"I-idot...you woke me up!"

"Ah, pero, Lovi..." he pondered, bringing his finger to his chin, "la siesta is long over!"

"So?!" Lovino tried to push himself up. "I'm not Spanish! I don't do the...seesta thing!"

Spain laughed, pushing the younger country back down. "It's la _siesta_. Not a seesta."

Blinking, Lovino seemed to be thinking this over his brain, trying to register the Spanish lesson he had just been given. However, Spain knew him better than that, and it would all be forgotten by tomorrow. "...Whatever! Just get off of me!" He grabbed Antonio by the shoulders, trying to wrestle him off. Spain sighed, slowly wiggling himself off of the couch, instead sitting in front of it, smiling up at the young man. The latter continued to amuse himself with the ceiling tiles.

"It's so nice out today, and you spend todo el dia sleeping! I had to pick all of the tomatoes..." he frowned. "todos de me."

For a moment, Lovino glanced down, giving Spain a look that almost said sorry, but didn't. The sorry was mixed in between the 'so?, why should I care,' and 'what's for dinner?' Of course, Antonio knew that Lovino had trouble expressing his...inner feelings, but then again, how hard was it to say "¡oh, lo siento, I didn't mean it!"

"W-well it's not my fault I got tired..." He pouted, sending a deep frown in Spain's direction. There was the sorry. In Lovi's own way. Spain laughed, reaching up and patting him on the head.

"Really, you're such a _patata de sofá_ sometimes."

"A...what?" Lovino's frown grew deeper.

"A couch potato!" He hadn't realized what he had said until the words left his mouth. Now, Lovi didn't like being called many things. Usually he would simply scowl and cuss out the person making fun of him, occassionally getting physical. But this....Spain had just called him a _potato_. Potatoes were an Italian man's worst enemy. Or, at least, this Italian man's. The young man instantly sprung off the couch, bringing his fist down on Antonio's head.

"What...the fuck! You bastard, do I look like a fucking potato?!"

"No...! It's just an expression, Lovi...!" But this didn't calm him down, and his small fists kept up their beating of Spain's head. It didn't really hurt him, as it _was_ Lovino, so Antonio simply let him keep going.

"I'm not a potato! I'm not like those stupid Germans and my stupid brother! Stupid, stupid...potatoes! I hate you!" He angrily flung himself back on the couch, having had enough of beating Spain. He huffed, and turned over, so that he wasn't facing the other country. Antonio sat on the ground for a few moments. These tantrums were daily things with Lovino, and by now he was used to them. When he wanted something to eat, or needed something from Spain, was usually when he stopped being angry. But he just looked so cute on the couch, and it wasn't like Spain to miss out on cute opportunities.

He stood up, and perched himself on the edge of the sofa. "You know, Lovi, I think you're right. You're not a patata de sofá at all."

"Hmph. Of course I'm not," came the muffled reply.

"No, no," Spain thought, "potatoes are lumpy and don't taste like anything. You're something...much cuter, and you definitely taste good." He slid down, lying next to Lovino on the couch, and lazily wrapped an arm around the younger man's waist. He almost felt the blush from where he lay.

"A-and...what would that be...?" Lovino shifted, and turned over so that his face was now facing Antonio's. The two stared at each other for a moment, before Spain pulled him into a kiss. Lovino made a squeaking noise, but easily gave in. They stayed like this for minutes, and Spain eventually pulled away, playfully tugging Lovino's curl.

"You're mi pequeño tomate del sofá."

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buenas tardes- good afternoon

pero- but

la siesta- nap time!

todo el dia- all day

todos de me- all by myself

lo siento- I'm sorry

patata de sofá- couch potato

pequeño tomate del sofá- my little couch tomato


End file.
